


Shades of Lavender

by spnblargh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, M/M, Schmoop, Valentine's Day, post-9x13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 05:44:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spnblargh/pseuds/spnblargh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He spots the sign just as he's snagging a shopping basket at the store entrance: <i>50% off all Valentine's Day stock!</i> It's a big red sign with black pen scrawled over the top, and a tiny little <i>While stocks last*</i> snuck in at the bottom.</p><p>(Dean buys Cas a pot plant as a kinda-sorta-Valentine's Day gift.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shades of Lavender

**Author's Note:**

> This is incredibly self-indulgent and fluffy.
> 
> Wishing you all a lovely Valentine's Day! -smooch-

He spots the sign just as he's snagging a shopping basket at the store entrance: _50% off all Valentine's Day stock!_ It's a big red sign with black pen scrawled over the top, and a tiny little _While stocks last*_ snuck in at the bottom.

It's a tacky-looking sign, really, but Dean's opinion on Valentine's Day is a fairly negative one, so it kinda fits. He's only ever experienced it as an opportunity to meet women who were a little desperate for a date. More often than not he'll be skulking around a cemetrary at midnight, too, hunting a spirit that's hellbent on taking revenge on their former lover. Just depended whether the year was odd or even, sometimes.

In short, it was a pretty ridiculous holiday. He can't help but notice the flowers on display, though — some fake, some not. There's a man hovering around them, picking them up, checking prices, touching the petals. It's a little pathetic, actually, to shop for a gift in a supermarket. The guy looks stressed, his forehead sweaty; he must have lost track of the date and is making a last-ditch effort to avoid the doghouse. Dean chuckles quietly to himself.

After much deliberation, the man places a set of fake pink roses in his trolley and hurries off. Dean approaches the stand slowly, casually. Up close he can see little heart-shaped tags poking out of pots or tied around rose bunches, the words _To_ and _From_ printed in neat, curly type. There are a number of fake sunflowers grouped into a large black bucket, a myriad of colours from yellow to white to blue.

The blue ones give him pause, the same shade as the tie Cas used to wear. Same shade as his eyes, too.

He shakes his head. From time to time he catches himself thinking about Cas like that, focusing on the little details: the dark shadow of his stubble; the way he squints when he's really involved in a TV show; that light shade of pink that colours his lips.

It's all rather poetic and way beyond the thoughts of friendship. Dean knows this well and chastises himself often. Cas is his friend, that's all they can be.

Then again, there's a potted orchid at the far end of the stand with a velvet heart sticking out next to the stem. It's alive and healthy-looking, at least by Dean's assessment. The leaves are a deep green and its petals are lavender, and Dean knows with absolute certainty that Cas would love it. He's been curious about gardening for a few weeks now.

But flowers are a gesture of _love_ , right? And that would be way beyond inappropriate, so he moves on. What was he here for again? Bread, milk, beer. Maybe some cashews.

When he's queuing up at the self check-outs, however, his eyes flit back to the stand of flowers, to the purple orchid, standing tall and luring him in.

There've been many times, recently, when Dean's needed someone to take care of him. He won't voice that need out loud but it's been there, burning gently beneath his ribcage. Sam's put a wall up between them, temporarily. Dean gets why; things are broken between them and they need to do some rebuilding. Distance comes first, though, and that's been the hardest part about it all.

And Cas, well, he's been great. Back in the bunker full time now, he's picked up on the cold shoulders that Dean and Sam have been giving each other. Dean can't swallow down the anguish like he normally can, and Cas has always been able to read him like a picture book anyway.

Late at night, when Dean's downstairs with his laptop and a bottle of his strongest, Cas will visit him with toast or oatmeal, always conscious of the days when Dean hasn't been eating. The oatmeal's thick and soggy and the toast is borderline burnt, but it's a relief for his stomach nevertheless. Cas'll suggest things for them to do, like go for walks or drive into town, and when Dean grunts noncommittally he'll stay with him in the cold basement, watching stupid YouTube clips and fetching him water when he downs the bourbon too quick.

The most shocking thing about it all is that Cas does all of this with a smile on his face, too, and that's the thing that makes Dean's throat lock up sometimes — _Cas genuinely cares about his wellbeing_ , as hard as that is for Dean to believe. And honestly, February 14th is gonna roll around tomorrow whether he likes it or not, so shouldn't he take advantage of it and do _something?_

At this point, if anyone's deserving of a frivolous gift, it's probably Cas. With newfound resolve, Dean ducks out of the queue and grabs the orchid, tucking it under his arm. He pays for it hurriedly, as if the weary employees are going to demand who he's giving it to, and he places it carefully in the passenger seat once he gets back to the car. He wraps the seatbelt around it for good measure, even though it seems kind of stupid.

He gets cold feet when he enters the bunker, and his heart pumps nervously when he discovers Cas bustling about the kitchen. Dean dumps the groceries on the counter, drawing Cas' attention, who offers him a smile. "Oh good, you're back."

"Uh, yeah." Dean swallows, the orchid sitting between his sweaty palms. He tries very hard not to drop the plant onto the tiles, hoping very, very hard that Sam won't be coming down any time soon. "Hey, so, I got you something."

Cas' eyes drift to the orchid, a strange emotion cloaking his eyes. "Oh. The flower? It's for me?"

"Yeah, for you." He gulps, heat creeping up his neck. Christ, why was this a good idea again? Goddamn spontaneity. "I just—" He takes a deep breath. "I've been, you know, down in the dumps recently. With Sam, and uh, and things. You've been there. You've been...awesome." Dean musters up the best smile he can, which is a fairly anxious one at that.

Carefully, Cas reaches out and slips his fingers around the pot, prying it from Dean's hands. "Phalaenopsis orchid," Cas reads, eyes directed at the tag.

"Yeah, yeah. Pretty low maintenance, apparently. Water it once a week or something. And, well, it was half off, you know." Dean shrugs, not sure what to do with his hands now that they're not clutching a pot plant like a shield. "I figured you might like it. Wasn't going to survive long at Coles."

Cas tears his gaze away from the orchid, and Dean feels his stomach do a dramatic _swooping_ sensation, the kind he hasn't experienced since his teenage years when he was still learning how to talk to boys and girls alike. Because, really, the smile that's stretching across Cas' face is the kind he very rarely sees, and knowing that Dean's responsible for putting it there is, well, it's encouraging.

"Thank you, Dean. This is a very kind gesture. I..." Cas closes his eyes, somewhat bashful. "This is a bit awkward."

"Awkward?" Dean echoes, frowning. "Why?"

"See, I—" Cas pops the plant down on the counter, giving its leaves a fond little flick before marching over to the fridge. "I may have gotten you a gift, too."

His lips part, surprised. "You did?"

"Well, I didn't spend money on it. Well, no, that's not entirely true, I did borrow money to pay for the ingredients." He bumps the fridge door closed with his hip, his hands cradling one of the largest pies Dean's ever seen. "I know you're not a fan of my cooking, but I promise I followed the recipe _exactly_ ," he says solemnly. "I had Sam taste-test as well. I assure you it is of the best quality I am capable of producing."

Dean's mind comes to a halt. "Wait, Sam knows you baked me pie?"

"Yes." Cas nods. "He helped me. He was quite enthusiastic."

A whole range of emotions flood Dean then; too many all at once, rendering him speechless for several seconds. Cas made him a pie for Valentine's Day, apparently. Sam helped. _Taste-tested_. What has his life become?

He exhales. "You...you baked me pie," Dean states the obvious, blinking twice.

Cas cocks his head to the side, brows knitted in concern. "This is...inappropriate? Do you not like it?"

"No, it's not that, Cas. It's—" he breathes out, tries to calm himself. The last person to bake him a pie was his mother when he was barely four years old. Wow. "It's perfect, Cas. Really. Thanks. Thank you for this."

Slowly, Cas nods. Dean's heart rate returns to some semblance of normality.

A moment later, however, Dean starts laughing, unable to keep quiet. He may or may not be a little delirious. The clock on the microwave ticks over to 00:04. "Dude, we just gave each other gifts. On February 14."

Cas smiles. "Yes, apparently we did."

"So, you know, I guess that makes you my Valentine this year." Dean quirks an eyebrow at him. "I gotta be honest, Cas, you couldn't have landed yourself with a worse candidate."

Cas is full on grinning at him now, the pie still seated comfortably in his arms. "He's alright," Cas says. "Unbearably self-deprecating, but he's alright."

Dean shakes his head, shoving Cas lightly in the shoulder. "Yeah, well, mine's kind of a dick, so."

Cas' shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. A moment later he approaches the kitchen counter, setting the pie down beside the orchid. He regards them both quietly, then turns to Dean, taking a few steps closer. There are still several inches between them, but Dean can feel the heat radiating off his body, can see the way the kitchen lights cast an orange glow across Cas' skin. "So, what now?" Cas asks, and maybe Dean's imagining it, but his voice sounds lower, huskier.

"I have a couple of ideas," Dean says, and what the hell, he throws in a wink for good measure. When it comes to flirting, he's all or nothing. "Let's give this one a try, huh?"

There's a strand of hair plastered to Cas' cheekbone. Boldly, Dean brushes it to the side, tucking it around the shell of his ear, then moves in. Their noses brush together first and then their mouths meet, Dean pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips. Cas releases a surprised breath, a rush of hot air against his cheek.

They break apart for maybe a millisecond and then Cas is leaning in, closing the gap, their lips greeting each other like old friends, softly and sweetly. Elation bubbles up in Dean's chest, a delightful flutter; a feeling that hasn't swept over him in a very long time.

"Dean," Cas mumbles against his lips, pulling back. "Dean, the bunker has no windows."

Dean stares, thrown off. "Wait, what?"

"You bought me a plant that requires sunlight," Cas says, glancing at his orchid anxiously. "How exactly is it going to absorb sunlight in a place like this?"

"Uh..."

"And what if it outgrows its pot? What then? I know nothing about fertiliser. I'll have to speak to a gardening specialist."

"Um, yeah, okay—"

"Plants will undoubtedly attract insects, too, and the bunker is already home to plenty of bugs as it is." Cas squints at him hard, mouth shaped into an unimpressed line. "You clearly didn't think this through."

He steps out of Dean's embrace, his arms having snaked around Cas' waist during the course of their kissing, which they _apparently_ have stopped doing for a whole bunch of reasons that Dean fails to understand. He doesn't  _want_ to understand, either — there is virtually no good reason for them not to be kissing right now.

"You have placed a living creature under my care," Cas says. "This is a lot of pressure."

"Cas, man, it's gonna be fine—"

"This orchid's life is in my hands," Cas tells him, nothing but seriousness in his eyes. Dean tries not to laugh. "Not only that, but it is a gift from you. If I let it die, I will have failed you. This is..." He looks like he needs to sit down. "Dean, I am concerned."

"That's why you got me!" Dean says, extending his arms in a get-back-over-here-you-asshole gesture. "I'll help you out, buddy. We got this under control. You're worrying too much."

Cas pauses. "Dean, I think we need to do some research on this. We're both clearly out of our element here."

"Can't we research it over the weekend?" Dean says, trying not to whine. "I was kinda hoping we could do some more, uh, you know." Dean eyes him hopefully. "Some more making out, maybe? You know, if you're up for it?"

Cas mulls it over. "Fine, but we're going to Cityblooms first thing tomorrow."

"Deal. Now get your ass over here."


End file.
